A Magic Deeper Still
by Pen.Hastings
Summary: The Four have left Cair Paravel in mystery; Narnia's Golden Age is over. Though no king sits upon the throne, the talking beasts of the land require the governance of a human. Enter Corin, Cor, and Aravis, just come of age, to lend a hand while they wait for Aslan to crown a new sovereign of Narnia.
1. Chapter 1

A Magic Deeper Still

Chapter 1: The Loss of the Four

Metal scraped against metal, sweat stung the future king's eyes as he and his twin pressed up against the side of the stable, a little too close to the horses stabled there. They nickered and pranced away from the sparring brothers and kicked the ground. "You'll get a hoof to the head if you don't let up, brother," said the younger twin, Prince Corin.

"I will not yield," Cor grunted, pressing all the harder, forcing his eyes to stay open and straining his muscles against his brother's superior girth. Corin boxed, and was massively built. He hit hard and he moved slowly. Cor was a much better swordsman, he was lean and quick, and much smaller than his brother. As children, they'd been identical, now, the only thing similar about them were their clear, blue eyes.

"You'll yield," said Corin, huffing and mustering his strength for one more shove. "Because you fight and look like a woman." He grunted and pushed with all his might, throwing his older twin off him, so that Cor staggered back several paces and let his brother step away from the stable. "Only Narnians wear their hair long, you know," said Cor, running his gauntleted hand over his shorn head. "Let me cut it for you, won't you?"

"Never," said Cor. "You'll have to catch me first, and ogres don't run very fast." He flashed a smile at his brother, reveling in their banter, enjoying the easy friendship they'd forged since the day they met, seven years ago.

"Fast or not, they don't call me Thunderfist for nothing," said Corin. "I'll wager the Lady Aravis prefers me to your scrawny form."

"I thought you had your sights on Queen Lucy, though she's nearly twice your age. Or is it the newly widowed Lazaraleen Tarkheena you want now? I can never remember with all the women you're after."

"Oh, anything to distract me from talking about your little Tarkheena. You can't keep your eyes off her…" Corin rushed his brother, forgetting his sword, and shoved him into the mud.

Prince Cor sprung to his feet again and threw off his gauntlets. "I do not!" he shouted. He reached back and let his fist swing toward his brother's jaw, but Corin blocked it easily, and swept his brother to the ground again with one powerful blow. Cor laughed as he spit out a mouthful of mud, and Corin helped him to his feet.

"Enough sparring for one day, I think," said Corin. "You're getting better—you're deadly with a blade. But that hot head of yours…"

"I thought you were the hot-headed one," said Cor.

"Oh, no, brother," said Corin. "I may look like a great oaf, but I'm thinking at least three steps ahead of you in every fight. We play at crossing words, but you take them too personally. You should learn to ignore them."

"Oh yes?" asked Cor, and swinging his leg out he caught his brother behind the knees and knocked him to the ground.

Corin roared with laughter, shaking mud out of his short hair and throwing a clod of it at his brother, missing, and hitting the stable. "That's more like it, brother! Now help me up!" Cor grasped his brother's hand, but instead of helping him up, he was pulled to the ground, and before he knew it, they were shoving clods of mud in one another's faces and scrambling all over the tilt yard, engaged in a new fight. Finally, when even their laughter had subsided, they called a truce and stood up, shaking off their armor, breathing hard.

"Father's going to be furious," said Cor. "We're due to dine, you know. Our guests will be here soon."

"Well go as you are if you want to be on time so very much," said Corin. "But I'm taking a bath." Together they left the tilt yard and walked through the bailey, covered in dirt and sweat, and smelling foul. In moments, however another smell assailed Prince Cor's senses. It was one he knew very well, and it maddened him. It was something like vanilla and exotic spices, wafting on a warm breeze. He glanced at the portcullis and saw her: Aravis Tarkheena, his friend and his father's ward, with whom he'd helped to save Archenland and Narnia from invasion seven years ago. Her loam brown hair was braided down her back, and she wore a dress that moved with her—the fabric imported from Narnia, and woven by wood nymphs. Her eyes were dark—almost black—and they were fixed on him in abject fury. "Forget father," said Corin with a wry smile, "Aravis looks as though she might kill you."

"A better death who could ask for?" asked Cor bravely, but his stomach jolted within him at the sight of her. She was livid.

"Shasta, how dare you!" she said in a quiet, but cold voice. "Our guests arrive any moment, and you… and YOU, Corin! How could you…" she couldn't finish, she was so angry. Cor flinched. She'd called him Shasta. That was never a good sign. She only called him that when she was especially annoyed with him. They'd been sent out by their father to don armor in preparation for the arrival of Narnia's Four, the Kings Peter and Edmund, and the Queens Susan and Lucy. On the way back, Corin had said something to provoke his brother, and an impromptu battle had ensued.

"It won't take long to clean up, Aravis," said Corin. smartly "We promise."

"I'm tired of promises, Corin!" said Aravis, looking exhausted. "And Cor… you ought to know better! Your father… Cor—this latest escapade might kill him!" She was exaggerating, but only slightly. King Lune's health had been failing for some time, and it was not thought that he would live out a year. Cor was immediately ashamed of himself. Not only because he knew he'd been irresponsible, but because he wanted Aravis' respect more than anything, and once again, he'd failed. He said nothing, but walked purposefully toward the entrance to Anvard, so that he might clean up and attend his father and the imminent arrival of his guests.

As he reached the top stair, the scent of vanilla and spices met him again, and he stopped near Aravis. Glancing at her, he said coldly, "My apologies, Lady," and made to move on.

Aravis grasped his arm—one of the only parts of him not covered in mud—and said, "Cor… please… Just, just try, won't you?"

Angry at her for her disappointment in him, no matter how justified it may be, he groaned and walked on. Stomping inside and up the grand staircase, he hollered for hot water and unbuckled his armor. Reaching his chamber, he dropped the armor and various pieces of clothing as he paced the room. What did he care if she was angry? Corin was as much to blame as he was. No, he knew that was untrue. Cor was the first born, and his mantle of responsibility was heavier than his brother's would ever be.

His bath felt wonderful, but he had little time to enjoy it, as his guests would be arriving shortly. He washed his long hair, then tied it at the base of his neck, knowing he must look strange with it still wet, but it could not be helped. He donned his court tunic and hose, but it would be useless to replace his armor—it was no longer shining, but covered in mud. He sighed, realizing that this would make Aravis madder still.

When he finally joined the others, he expected to find the Four Sovereigns of Narnia in the hall, but they had not arrived yet. He sighed deeply, relieved he had not missed his guests' arrival. Corin approached him solemnly. "Brother, you took nearly an hour," he said.

"No I didn't," said Cor. "Barely twenty minutes, I'm sure. Where are the Narnians?"

"No one knows. It is half a day's ride from Cair. Still, I'd have thought they'd arrive by now."

"Where is Aravis?"

"Pacing the bailey," said Corin.

"Is she angry still?"

"Not as much as she is worried. I've never seen her like this."

Cor thought for a moment. "She's always been a little over-zealous… She often worries."

"You've not seen her, then," said Corin. "Her eyes… she knows something, I fancy. Or senses something."

"Where's father?"

"In his chamber. He's too unwell to join us tonight."

Cor nodded, then headed for the bailey. The sight of Aravis pacing was normal enough, but Corin was right—her eyes were like those of a hunted animal. Even her perfectly plaited braid had begun to come undone, and strands of her think, dark hair were flying away behind her. She wrung her hands—he could tell they were red with the wringing, though her dark Calormen skin rarely showed redness, having lived in the north these seven years had paled her considerably. He especially could tell that she was nervous, for when she looked at him, she did not scold him as he'd believed she would, she simply continued to pace, saying nothing.

Cor approached her. "I'm sure they'll be here soon," he said. Aravis stopped and stared at him, as if she hadn't heard. "They'll arrive any moment, I'm sure," he said encouragingly.

"They're over an hour late now," said Aravis, resuming her pacing.

"It's a long way from Cair," said Cor. And did they not go to the west in a hunt yesterday? Perhaps they took the journey slowly."

"No," said Aravis, her voice panic-stricken. Somehow when she was upset, the spice of her Calormene heritage was more obvious in her words. "There is something wrong. I know that to be true."

Suddenly, there was a great noise, as the trampling of many feet and hooves. "You see?" said Cor, smiling. "Here they are! They've brought half the court with them, I'll warrant." Aravis rushed down the steps to meet those first through the gates of Anvard. She saw fauns, birds, centaurs, cats, and horses. Her old mare Hwin and Cor's friend Bree were among the talking animals.

"Well met, Hwin!" said Aravis, brightening. "But where…"

A faun they both recognized as Tumnus approached them, his breath heaving. "Your Highnesses…" he said, clutching at his chest—for he was an old and stout faun now—"It is the Four!"

"What's wrong?" asked Cor, his fear mounting.

Corin joined him in the Bailey. "Welcome, Narnia!" he said joyously. "I say… what's the matter?"

"The Four of Cair!" shouted Tumnus, and the other Narnians ceased their chatter and moving. "They have vanished!"

"Vanished, what do you mean?" asked Aravis. "Where could they have got to?"

"Yesterday…" said Tumnus, his voice cracking with anxiety, "They left on the hunt… the hunt for the White Stag… They never returned."

"Well, then, we search!" said Cor. "Bree, might I ride you?"

"Wait, your Highness," said Tumnus. "That is not all… We know where they have gone."

"Where?" asked Aravis in a panic.

"Back to their own world," said Tumnus. "Aslan has come to visit us. He told us to waste no time in informing you, for our land is left without a human ruler… and may easily fall into the hands of Evil once more…"

"What?" asked Prince Corin, surprise on his face.  
"I shall tell all," said Tumnus. "I ask only…" he took a breath, his face red, his eyes weary.

"Enter, friend," said Prince Cor. "We will dine you—and every Narnian present. If there is time, let us go immediately to counsel and take food and drink. Someone, wine for the fauns and centaurs! You horses and cats—"

"We will do very well drinking from the Winding Arrow," said the horse Bree, with a bow of his head. Archenland's river lay across the lawn from the house of Anvard, not a stone's throw away."

"Very well," said Cor. "Then you will dine as well—though the stables of Anvard are not nearly as comfortable as those of Cair…"

"It is perfect," said Bree, and he and the other talking animals departed to have a drink. The fauns, centaurs, dwarves, and some tree women followed the princes Cor and Corin and the Lady Aravis into the hall of Anvard. Once seated around the table and served their supper, the council began.

"Aslan has told us," said Tumnus. "That only a human can rule for Narnia to prosper. And until one is decided upon on a permanent basis, a regent must supply the rule. Aslan has told us it is to be one of the princes of Archenland!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Chosen Twin

"A prince of Archenland?" asked Cor incredulously. "Which one? Why?"

"It cannot be Cor," said Aravis quickly. "He's needed here." Cor looked at her, surprised at her outburst. But the look she gave him was not one of fine feelings—perhaps it was his father's health she thought of.

"It cannot be me," said Corin. "I…" He didn't finished, for there was no reason. Everyone stared at the younger prince. The choice seemed obvious.

"Why not, your highness?" asked Tumnus, and the other Narnians nodded their heads in question.

"Did Aslan say specifically who was to go?" asked Cor.

"No," admitted Tumnus. "Though he did say…" Here he looked cautiously at the elder brother.

"Speak your mind, friend," said Cor. "No secrets here." His mind was reeling—could the Four truly be gone? What would this mean for Narnia? For the world? And… their friendships had been strong... He could not think on that now.

"You are soon to succeed your father," said Tumnus solemnly.

"That is known to all," said Cor gravely. All knew Cor was soon to be king of Archenland, but he did not like to think of it. His father, die? He hated the thought.

"Known generally speaking only," Aravis added, "Did Aslan tell you something more specific, Master Tumnus?"

"No, my lady," said the faun, sipping from a goblet. "He did say it would be soon… but…"

"But he would tell you no story but your own?" asked Cor, and everyone chuckled. All present knew very little of the great mysteries that made Aslan the son of the Emperor over the Sea, but they were at least familiar with some of his oddities.

"Indeed, sire," said Tumnus. "It may be days…" Cor stiffened. "Or years," Tumnus added. "But why does the younger prince remain silent?" Everyone looked now at Corin, who was absently crumbling bread onto his plate, watching them as they spoke.

"What have you to say, brother?" asked Cor.

"Very little," said Corin with a strange gravity that became him very ill. "If it is the Lion's will, then of course I will go to the aid of our neighbors. But I am unable to the task of regent. I have not the skill or wish for power."

"I would think less of you if you had, my son," came a voice from the end of the hall. All turned and saw King Lune, walking down the steps, dressed regally and standing erect and strong, despite his failing health. His sons stood first, and the rest followed, all bowing respectfully to Archenland's king. Both sons came to his side, kissing him in turn.

"How are you, father?" asked Cor.

"Why are you not resting?" Corin added.

"Something told me I was needed here," said King Lune, a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye.

Aravis approached him and took his arm. "Sire, may I lead you to a chair?"

"Yes, my dear," said King Lune, going with Aravis. "I should like very much to sit by you, if that is favorable."

"It is indeed, sire," said the Tarkheena. Cor and Corin stepped back to their own seats.

"My Lord King," said Tumnus, bowing to King Lune, and then seating himself once more as the King took his own seat. "I do not wish to bring trouble to your house…"

"Trouble will find a house whether or not someone brings it," said the King wisely, "But never have I had cause to fear when the court of Narnia visited. It was by your assistance that I have a kingdom at all, Master Faun." King Lune paused for a moment, and then took a deep draught from a wine goblet. Fortified by the strong spirit of his land (new season's wine, harvested that same year, in the vineyards of the Hermit of the Southern March), King Lune resumed: "I am sad indeed that the Four have been sent once more to that Other Place… but Aslan's will is always best. It would seem a choice must be made, then, as to whom shall fall the stewardship of our neighboring country. How long have I do think on the matter, Tumnus?"

"It is imperative that I return on the morrow, sire," said the faun. "With our new regent."

"Indeed?" said the King, and absently stroked his beard. "I shall have an answer then, by sun-up. We shall not fail your land." Tumnus visibly sighed his relief, and the tension was a very little less. "Mean while," continued King Lune as he stood once more, "Raise a glass, all—in salute to the Four…" As he spoke their names, his voice echoed in the hall: "King Peter the Magnificent… King Edmund the Just… Queen Susan the Gentle… Queen Lucy the Valiant…"

Aravis, who'd remained stone-faced through out the counsel, wiped her eyes now at the epithet of her dearest friend. Cor watched her expertly control what must be a sharp pain within. Calormenes were taught to hide pain—to control their emotions and face trial with equanimity. That she even showed a small amount of remorse at this news showed him the magnitude of her hurt. Something in his heart tugged at him on behalf of the Tarkheena. They fought daily, and seemed more annoyed with each other as grown ups than they ever had as children… but her pain called to something within his own soul—something wild, born of instinct… an urge to protect her. Where it came from, he could not guess, and he was actually scratching his head in confusion when his brother whispered, "That is quite a wise look for a future king," and chuckled.

"Shut up," said Cor, lowering his hand. "What do you make of it?"

"Bad business all 'round…" Corin replied.

Cor stood at the close of the meal and bid the court good night. Aravis, he noticed then, had already departed. Nodding to his father and clapping his brother on the back, he quitted the hall and went to bed.

oOoOoOo

Aravis walked through the Garden of Anvard—Archenland's most lovely wonder. There were mazes and pathways, arches, gazebos, fountains and marble statues of Archenland's great heroes of the past. It was these statues that Aravis studied keenly as she walked in the moonlight—there was Ram, God of Peace…holding in one hand a sword, and in the other an olive branch… The Hero Twins, Dar and Darin, who'd fought gallantly in many battles together, finally meeting their shared doom in the Lapsed Bear of Stormness Head, whom Prince Corin later defeated, avenging them. There were the statues of the twin princes of Archenland… Corin in his boxing stance, his hair shorn, and Cor with his sword at his side, his long hair blown behind him. There was King Lune, a jolly smile on his face, his hands splayed over his belly. He stood next to his wife—she'd passed in the birth of her sons. Aravis returned to Cor's statue, and stared overlong at it… so lifelike, so the image of the future king of Archenland. Aravis wiped another tear away. Were he to leave… But, was Corin ready for such a responsibility? She knew whom she'd prefer remain in Archenland… but she also knew that it was important to do what Narnia needed most. And it wasn't that Corin couldn't make a fine ruler… but she never imagined… Yet, as intelligent and brave as Cor was, he was a rash man—often acting before thought. True, it had saved a nation once… but could he act as regent… possibly for a short time? He would be needed here soon as well, if King Lune passed.

And then there were her thoughts of the Four of Cair. She breathed deeply, controlling a terrible urge to sob—to weep in sadness. She breathed in deep breaths, repeatedly wiping tears from her eyes, hating the thought that she would never see her friend, Queen Lucy, again… She lost her friend… must she lose Cor as well? And why did she care so for him? He was a daily annoyance, and his manner toward her brash and unfeeling. But something in him… she couldn't tell what, but something filled her with terror at the prospect of his possible departure for Narnia—for who knew how long?

Eventually she knew she must go in to bed, but she also knew she would not sleep that night. Laying in her bed, the imagined the Other Place, where the Four had disappeared to, and wondered what it was like. Surely nothing like Archenland or Narnia… Would Lucy ever return? Would she have another chance to see her friend?

oOoOoOoOo

"I have made my decision," said King Lune at breakfast. Cor noted that his father's color was good—his cheeks not as pale as they'd been for some time, and he ate heartily. It was good to see his father looking so well. The court of Anvard and that of Narnia waited for the King to make the announcement of who was to travel back to Cair Paravel. "I intend to have Corin take over Regency," said King Lune, but before anyone could speak or cheer for him, he added, "But I do not believe he is ready on his own yet. And so, Cor will go with him—and Corin will learn what needs to be done."

"No!" said Aravis, then, checking herself once everyone looked at her, she corrected, "Both of them cannot go, sire."

"I am not going to die in the next month, my lady," said the King, and everyone laughed nervously. "In a month's time, Cor will return, and Corin will remain regent of Narnia. Perhaps then we will better know the will of the Lion."

"So it is decided," said Tumnus, and everyone raised their glasses to the twins of Archenland—the temporary regent lords of Cair Paravel.

oOoOoOoO

"Both of us?" asked Corin, pacing the hall while everyone bustled about, readying themselves for departure.

"I thought you didn't want to do it?" said Cor.

"I don't know if I am ready… but it's more humiliated to have my brother come—to teach me!

"I'm not there to teach you anything," said Cor. "The country will be in disarray. I'm there to help shoulder the burden until things settle down. I am quite at your disposal, I assure you."

"You are sure father didn't send you to play nursery maid to me?"

"Of course not, Corin," said Cor, annoyed with his brother. "Look at it as a blessing. And besides, I will leave within a month—then you'll be rid of me forever."

"Why would I WANT to be rid of you?" asked Corin, who seemed determined to argue, whether or not it was warranted. "Why do I have to stay in Narnia…"

"You've never wanted to rule anything," said Cor, fed up with the complaining. "You've boasted for years about being allowed to remain a prince, well, now your words come back to haunt you. Now you can't dream your days away—you'll need to be responsible."

"I have to be responsible?" asked Corin, his voice raised. "You're older than me by less than an hour! What gives you the right…"

"Do you think I haven't been under considerable pressure these last years? You eat, drink, and box the day away, while I study with father and learn pomp and court, diplomacy, and strategy. It's about time you did a thing or two." Cor turned on his heel, intending to stomp outside, and saw Aravis at the door. He stopped suddenly, and bowed with stiff politeness. "My lady," he addressed her, then continued on.

Corin laughed and said, "He's out of sorts. Can you believe the nerve—"

"Corin, don't," said Aravis shortly. "He's right—you need this. And you need his assistance. He's only trying to help—and he is certainly well-prepared. Trust that he will guide you well. You wouldn't have been chosen if your father had no faith in you both."

"Then you want us both to go?"

"Of course not," said Aravis, then, containing her true feelings, she added, "One of you certainly is needed here. But I trust your father's judgment also."

"If the choice had been yours, what would you have chosen?"

"I don't know," said Aravis.

"Come now," said Corin, joking with her dangerously. "Which of us do you like better?"

His teasing and refusal to take the matter more seriously angered her more. "Frankly?" she said, "I'm glad you'll BOTH be gone a month—and I hope more!" She too stomped off, in the direction of the bailey.

"You're just like Cor," said Corin, roaring in laughter. "Both of you too hot-headed for your own good, and too easily annoyed." He thought a moment, and chuckled. _Both of them alike, _he thought… what an interesting match _that_ would make. _If only he could manage it…_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Prince, The Tarkheena, and the Regent  
Aravis cursed the twin princes and their unborn children. Never mind that a small voice in her head wondered for a moment if in this way she was also cursing her own offspring-NO. What was she thinking? The both of them were arrogant, idiotic MEN. And Cor was the worst. At least Corin never pretended to be something he wasn't. He was a childish troublemaker and never claimed to be otherwise. Cor, however... What POTENTIAL Cor had...but he wasted it. His utterly rash words, his insensitivity... his infernally long hair even-everything about him annoyed her, and she was done with him. Upon their departure, she stamped off to her chamber, before they'd even left the bailey. She donned riding clothes, dragged a brush through her hair and pulled it back, braiding it fiercely into a long, whip-like plait down her back, and scowled at her angry reflection in a looking glass.

Still stomping with fury, she returned to the hall, went out into the bailey and into the tilt yard where the stables were. It was here she'd seen them coming from last night-covered in mud and sweat, like they were no better than pigs. "The brutes…" she muttered. Aravis herself saddled her horse and rode. She galloped along the Winding Arrow, through the hills and trees of Archenland, her goal at first uncertain, but soon she realized that she was headed for the Southern March. Surely her friend Torlian-who must already be on the look out for her, having seen her in his magic pool-would have some advice... or at least offer her peace after her rather frustrating morning and grief-stricken night.

Even the sight of the Narnians departing was enough to undo her. She could not spend the next month at Anvard without gaining some sense of peace. King Lune would not worry-she often left to visit the hermit. Oftentimes in the past, Cor and Corin came with her-she was inseparable from them as children, when she may as well have been the third brother. Often it had been Cor with her, as Corin preferred his own sport-not to mention saving Narnia together and traveling for months had endeared them to each other for a time.  
But a year or more ago... Cor began to become distant. He never rode with her anymore, never joked together. And as of late-within months even, his every word to her was cold politeness and more often, barely chivalrous silence. Who _was_ this man-surly and sour, ignoring her one moment, and provoking her the next? And why did his indifference hurt so much? What did she care? Why did things have to change at all? And Corin... he would always be the same, unless some great and terrible alteration came to change him for good. Irresponsible, lazy, and a cad, at least _he_ could be counted on never to change.  
The hard riding did her good, and before an hour was up-and she was half-way to the Southern March-Aravis had calmed considerably, and allowed her horse to walk for a time, while she enjoyed the warm spring weather. It was on days like this in years past that she enjoyed most her visits to see Torlian, she would bring him a picnic, and she and Cor... There she went again, thinking of him. "Oh, bother Cor!" she said aloud, and her horse glanced back at her, surprised at her sudden outburst. "Good riddance," she said, and the horse continued a slow walk, perhaps thinking its rider a trifle mad to be talking to no one, but not minding as long as it didn't have to gallop. "He will be gone for a month, and perhaps more... and then, when he returns... he can see the error in dealing with me as he has done!"

oOoOoOoOo

Cor lay in a large bed-one that had once belonged to King Edmund, in fact, and he could not sleep. It had taken them a full day's ride to get to Cair Paravel, and after they'd been supped and welcomed, Tumnus made them as comfortable as he could-it seemed he'd been acting as a mixture of the court scholar and major domo, an occupation that suited him rather well-promising to explain the workings of Cair in detail the next morning. It was strange sleeping in the younger king's quarters, strange, and a little sad. He had always gotten along quite well with Edmund, and he would miss him. Not perhaps as much as Aravis would miss Queen Lucy. Strange, thinking of Aravis just now. She truly seemed annoyed with him-or was it Corin? Or both of them?-when they left that morning. She hadn't even remained in the bailey long enough to wave to them.  
It would be a relief to be away from her for a month... her presence was maddening. Not only did she disapprove of everything he did, she refused to see anything of worth in him at all... and the way she looked, smelled, moved... what was he saying? Why did she have to change so much in the last year? They'd been close friends before… what had happened?

Knowing he would not be able to sleep that night, Cor finally rose and made his way down to the hall of Narnia. He was not the only one who was wakeful—Corin sat by the dying fire at the far end of the hall, just off to the right of the rulers' dais. Cor approached his brother and spoke: "Can't you sleep, Corin?"

The younger twin jumped, and then laughed at himself. "You'll be my death," he said. "No, I can't. It's noisy here. Even when talking animals sleep, they make the most frightful grunting noises."

"Is that all that is keeping you awake?"

"No," Corin admitted. "What exactly did the Four do all day here?"

"They ruled the creatures—just as we do in Archenland. Only… they're all talking animals here."

"What kind of rule do animals need?"

"Not harsh, that is certain," said Cor. "I remember once I asked King Peter what the hardest job was… he answered that giving the giants a trouncing up north did it. There used to be the occasional rumor of a hag or an evil tree… but they were taken care of early on."

"It would seem this post won't have much action then," said Corin, visibly disappointed. "Why did father think I needed help, I wonder…"

"Perhaps to learn the calm life of the Narnians," said Cor. "Their ways are not our own. It may seem like a simple post, but trust me, it is not."

"How do you know?"

"Tumnus came to record Narnian history at the Library of Anvard a few years ago, you'll remember. He explained to me the need to have humans ruling over this land."

"You mean those old rhymes about 'Adam's flesh and Adam's bone, and all that?"

"Yes," said Cor. "Though even you and I are not fully human."

"The rite of a prince of Archenland," Corin nodded, reciting the teaching he knew well. "We have moon's blood… though not much of it anymore."

"Enough human blood to watch over Narnia for a time, though," said Cor. "Do you remember how Narnia came into her Four Rulers?"

"The story of the White Witch," said Corin. "Everyone knows that."

"Indeed," said Cor. "She came to power at the end of Queen Swanwhite's reign. She was the last in Narnia with human blood in her. In those days, Narnia and Archenland knew very little of each other."

"How do you know so much?"

"Tumnus," said Cor simply. "He knows much of Narnia—more even of Archenland, if you can believe it."

"He has been called the state bard of Archenland…" Corin laughed. "Surprising that he knows more about it than the natives.

"I'm not a native," said Cor. "At least… I didn't know anything about it until seven years ago. I digress… we were speaking of human blood."

"Why is it so bloody important?" asked Corin jovially.

"Very funny," said Cor. "As a matter of fact, I don't know why blood is so important to rule. Narnia belongs to the talking beasts and spirits… but Aslan says it is for man to be ruler over."

"One of the many things about Aslan that I will never understand, I'm afraid," said Corin. "And how long will this be for? What if there is no human king to take over? Will I be stuck here?"

"I hardly think of it as being stuck here," said Cor. "You are in charge of a kingdom before I get to be—did you ever think of that?"

oOoOoOoOo

The Hermit of the Southern March was indeed expecting Aravis' arrival, and he welcomed her with open arms. "Daughter, you are well met," he said as they walked inside the green hedged enclosure. "It is with a troubled heart that you come to see me this day, I perceive."

"Not troubled so much, father," said Aravis, choosing her words carefully. She knew that he could see many things in his pool of sight, but could not hear words spoken—a look might have given some feeling away, however she need not own to what it might be. "Weary… quite weary, Sire."

"Then rest your self at a friend's dwelling, daughter," said the hermit.

He led her to a stone bench and table beneath a great oak, where a meal of bread and fruit had already been laid for them both. Aravis ate heartily, greatly comforted by the presence of her old friend. It was Torlian, who'd been a place of refuge many a day for both her and Cor—they'd often ridden here in the past, though it had been many months since the prince had accompanied her. Anger rose in her again when she thought of this, but she pushed it aside, for she had other business. "Father, I have a question for you…"

"Please ask, my daughter," said Torlian.

"I assume you saw the Four disappear."

"I did," said Torlian.

"Why did you not warn anyone? You see things in the future… I thought…"

"I see many things in the future, child," said Torlian softly. "And some in the past… and some as they happen. It was the moment of their disappearance that I came upon the pool. I sent many of my flying friends to Narnia—to Cair—the moment I did."

"But, it was too late to do anything…" said Aravis, her heart sinking.

"Not necessarily," said Torlian. "Between my messengers and the word of the Lion, the court of Narnia gained knowledge as to how and when they'd gone. Can you imagine the world-wide search that would still be going on, otherwise?"

"I hadn't thought of that," said Aravis. Indeed, the land of Narnia would be in a great tumult if no one had any idea of where the Four had gone—there would be quest upon quest to find them… and all for naught. "Is… it known who will succeed them as sovereign?"

"The Prince Corin is made regent, I've seen," replied the old man.

"Yes, but… after? Who will be the permanent king? Who will rule Narnia?"

"That is yet unknown to me," said Torlian.

"Know you how long Cor will remain?" asked Aravis, hoping her voice was casual and unconcerned. But something in her eyes as she asked the question must have alerted the hermit to some of the feelings behind her question.

"Not intolerably long," said Torlian enigmatically. "Have you a wish for his return so soon?"

"No… Well—King Lune is not well…Cor is needed in Archenland." Aravis stood from the table and walked a little way toward the far green wall, feeling the soft, cool grass on her feet. Many times in the past she and Cor strolled these grounds barefoot. Those had been happier days. Would they ever again? A pang of hurt—surely from missing her friend, Queen Lucy, stabbed at her heart.

"He is well enough for the present," said Torlian. "Achenland will not be left without a king any time soon, child." He was behind her now, a hand resting on her shoulder. "Is that what troubles you, or is it something more?"

Aravis turned toward Torlian, smiling guiltily. "There are other things, of course—but then, your great perception is more experienced than my ability to conceal a matter."

"I will not press you, child," said Torlian, though Aravis was well-aware that he already must have some idea as to her thoughts. "Rest here tonight—and return on the morrow. Many things are known that might yet surprise you. You will see the prince shortly."

It was long after she lay on a soft heather palate, staring out a window into the southern Archenland sky that Aravis truly appreciated how much the hermit knew—and how little he was willing to tell anyone. Knowledge, it seemed, could be a very dangerous thing.

oOoOoOoOo

The following week in Narnia, at the court of Cair Paravel, Cor and Corin were much busier than either of them had expected they might be. They were given complete tours of the castle, to include the treasure chambers, and they rode through the surrounding lands as far as the Ford of Beruna, meeting with all kinds of talking animals—all of whom were still devastated by the loss of their kind sovereigns, but welcoming of the regency of Corin. Prince Cor did his best to remain in the background, hoping his presence would give his brother confidence, but refusing to get in the way, so that Corin would learn how to govern Narnian's subjects in his own time and way.

Tumnus was their constant companion, telling them of the histories of Narnia—he was a kind guide, and always ready to assist in whatever way he could. It seemed that the faun was so busy most of the time in making the two princes comfortable, that he never rested. Cor supposed that he, too, would busy himself as much as possible were he in the faun's place. He'd only just lost his four sovereigns—Tumnus must be in more sorrow than he let on.

It was well into the second week when Corin was beginning to feel a little more at home. "And this chap, er… rabbit, Master Cotton, was it? He's taken your store of nuts under confiscation?" Corin addressed Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel in Cair Paravel's hall, sitting at a table near the fire—he refused to sit upon the King's Dais.

"That's right, Your Regency," said Mr. Squirrel, wringing his paws together. "And the misses and me… well—we've got nine babbies to feed…"

"I can understand the predicament," said Corin, glancing at his brother, who sat not far away, appearing to read a book. "Well, let us hear from Master Cotton."

"He's been brought here, Your Regency," said Tumnus kindly, entering with a long-eared rabbit hopping along behind him.

"What is this about taking the Squirrels' food supply?" asked Corin once the rabbit approached him and bowed.

"Begging your pardon," said Master Cotton, tugging his ears nervously, "It weren't no personal disrespect… I assure ye."

"How do you say?" asked Corin with surprise. "Taking another's food is deplorable. Was it to feed yourself? You know that the food stores at the castle are always open to animals in need. You needn't steal."

"Well," said Master Cotton, glancing at Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel nervously, "It weren't stealin' exactly, yer grace… and… and…"

"We've been friends for ages, Cotton," said Mr. Squirrel. "You know I'd have—"

"It's fer a surprise!" Master Cotton nearly shouted. "We're best mates, Squirrel, and don't ye fer a moment think I'd be robbing ye!"

"What is this?" asked Corin, trying very hard to be patient.

"It's Squirrel's birthday on Tuesday," said Master Cotton. "And… well, I dug him a new food store… the old one collapsed last winter. It was supposed to be a surprise…"

Mr. Squirrel looked dumbfounded. "Is this true?" he asked his friend. "Why… I'm… jiggered!"

Master Cotton brightened at the look of gratitude in his friend's eyes, and the two embraced. "I can show it to ye, if ye wants…" said the rabbit. "Though it was a surprise… thanks for trying to keep it, Mrs. Squirrel."

"Oh, I did my best," said the Squirrel's wife. "But he insisted on taking the matter to the Regent.: She sighed and patted her husband's arm—his face was pointed toward the ground, a sheepish humility having settled over him. "If you want my opinion, he just wanted to meet you sire," she said with a squirrelly curtsey toward Corin.

"You could have met me in any case," said Corin, slightly annoyed, but more amused than anything. "The doors of Cair will always be open. But you must know, Mr. Squirrel… accusing someone of thievery without getting all the facts is a serious matter." He looked at Master Cotton, who was happy, but seemed to be wondering how things would turn out. "You might have gone to your friend ns asked him first."

"That I should have, Your Regency," said Mr. Squirrel. "Master Cotton… will you forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive, friend," said Master Cotton. "It's high time for your birthday party, though—if you've done wasting the Regent's time…" Mr. Squirrel looked even more humbled. The friends having made it up, they bid Prince Corin good bye and hurried off to their homes to celebrate Mr. Squirrel's birthday, and Corin laughed heartily as he sat nearer the fire to warm his hands.

"Well done, brother!" said Cor, shutting the book he'd been pretending to read.

"Indeed it was," said Tumnus, beaming at his new regent. "You are to be commended.

Corin said nothing, but the smile on his face was pleased, and he knew he was getting the knack of things. "I won't have to remain the entire month, I'll warrant," said Cor with a smile.

"No…" said Corin. "You should stay… I'll botch up the next case of stolen nuts, I'm sure."

"Nonsense," said Tumnus. "You are a first-rate ruler, sire," said Tumnus. Your father made a true choice."

"He did," Cor assured his bother. He was proud of Corin. Watching him over the last week had been amusing at first—and he wondered if Corin would be able to do well at his post, and he'd been pleasantly surprised. It seemed that Corin did better with animals than humans—and he'd taken the mantle of his responsibility seriously. But his confidence in himself was lacking, and Cor had the idea that his brother did not wish him to leave him alone. Regular correspondence with his father told him that King Lune was heartier than ever, and Cor was not needed back right away, so he might stay longer… but he'd had no letter from Aravis, though he'd written her on the second day of his arrival. He was torn between a curious wish to see her and anger at her refusal to write him back. Some friend she'd been. He missed their easy laughter and trusting camaraderie. But her surliness toward him made him wish to stay away longer. What had he to return to Archenland to, but her disapproval?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Spirit

_My Lady Aravis,_

_I trust this letter finds you well. As I am sure you've heard from my father, Corin and I were welcomed warmly by the subjects of Narnia, and are eager to learn all we can, in order to fulfill the duties needed to install Corin in his regency. Our first day here was filled with meeting talking animals, fauns, dwarves, tree and water people—everyone has been gracious, though Narnia harbors much pain at the loss of the kings and queens. Corin is getting on well, and I am certain he will continue to thrive. I am well also._

_Father tells me you went to visit Torlian after we left. I remember the days when we rode to the Southern March together with fondness. It is a shame that these times are fraught with new responsibilities that make such happy visits quite impossible for me. If you speak with the hermit again, please send my regards. Narnia is a lovely place, but I find I miss the warmer woods and river of Archenland, and look forward to my return. I hope you fair well, my lady._

_In friendship,_

_Cor_

Aravis read it through several times. She looked at it, folded it and placed it in her pocket, paced her room for a moment, then took it out again and re-read it again. Ten or more times through, she'd begun to memorize his words. Then she picked them apart and did her best to divine any inner meaning he may or may not have intended to write.

"He trusts the letter finds her well?" Lucky it found her at all! Why, it had been more than a fortnight before she even received it! Not that it was strictly his fault… or even partially. He'd sent it to Anvard, but she'd been remaining with the hermit for a few days. It was sent on from there to the Southern March, and missed her on her return journey. Then the carrier bird had been injured and nursed back to health by Torlian before returning to Anvard. Finally, she received it from another carrier bird, and now she realized how angry Cor must be at her seeming refusal to write him back. She intended to, of course, but she needed to think it through first.

His letter sounded cool and distant… but he did wish her well, and he did sign it "in friendship", something she thought he'd forgotten her as. Then there was the comment about his responsibilities keeping him from visiting Torlian, and the implication that she was not so encumbered as he. Was it a stab at her own apparent unemployment, that she had time to flit her days away with pleasant visits to the March? Or… was she searching for insult where none was meant? Did he speak of his own perceived weight… the great burden that lay on his shoulders as the king's first born? And he missed Archenland's woods and river? What of her? He did hope she was well, though… that was something…

With a groan of frustration, Aravis pulled the letter out again and read it once more. She stopped pacing once she reached a beam of sunlight, shining on the rug of her chamber. She sat down in its warmth, near the ink and parchment she'd placed there for her reply over an hour ago. "Just sit and write him back…" she told herself firmly. "Be kind… but not—" There was a knock at her door. Tucking the letter away, she turned and said, "Come in."

King Lune entered softly, wearing buskins on his feet for warmth. Though his hair and beard were grey—nearly white, and his face wrinkled, his eyes still had their merry twinkle, belying his years. Aravis stood and approached him, kissing him on the cheek. "Good afternoon, my dear," said Lune.

"To you as well, sire," said Aravis kindly. "Won't you join me in the window seat? I have the evening sun—and the trees make it last only a short while." King Lune smiled kindly and allowed her to help him toward the seat she mentioned. "Will you take wine, sire?" He nodded, and she went for the decanter on her dressing table—filled with that season's Archenland wine. "Watered, sire?"

"Pure, my dear," said the king. Aravis smiled and poured the wine into a goblet, but did not water it down. The _Spirit of Archenland_ is made from the best grapes, from the mountaintop vineyards of Azcor, just north of Anvard, bordering Stormness head. The moisture from the constant fog of Stormness coupled by the intense sunshine at the high altitude provided Archenland with the largest, sweetest grapes, which constantly freeze and unfreeze by turns throughout the season. This makes the wine very strong, and often needs to be watered down or added to less potent wines for taste. But King Lune always preferred the wild purity of his kingdom's wines, picked each year by his own hands, right alongside the workers of the vineyards. "I'm surprised you needed to ask."

"I did not need to, sire," said Aravis, returning with his wine. "But they say you are getting on in years, and I wanted to check that your tastes have not altered. I am please to find they have not." She handed him his wine, and toasted him with her own, then they both drank. "How do you find it, sire?"

"As good as any made in my time or my father's time," said Lune. "You know—it comes from being harvested by hands flowing with moon's blood."

"Indeed, sire," said Aravis, smiling.

"And this year, it carries a little spice, provided by our resident Tarkheena as well, I believe…" added the king, his eyes twinkling. "A taste of the south was just what it needed. I must say… Calormen's spice and Archenland's moonlit ice… quite a combination. There's an epic ballad in there somewhere…"

"Spice and Ice, sire?" asked Aravis in laughter. "You'd do better to leave rhyming to fauns…"

The king joined in her laughter, and they sat, easy friends, drinking the _Spirit of Archenland_ with contentment. At length, King Lune spoke again. "It is sad indeed that Cor's letter took so long to reach you. I am sure you thought he'd forgotten?"

"Oh…" Aravis blushed. That was exactly what she had been thinking over the last fortnight. King Lune had a letter every day, but the delay in Cor's letter reaching her had made her believe she was being slighted. Now, with her delay in writing back, he probably thought the same of her. "Only a little, sire…" she said. "He is occupied with matters of state… installing Corin in his regency… he has many responsibilities. I ought to have written… I am less… employed than he is…"

"Why do you say that?" asked Lune. "You care for me and keep the House of Anvard as well as a true, moon-blooded, Archenlandish queen. Why… you plan meals, care for the dogs now that I cannot… your schedule is quite filled."

"Perhaps…" said Aravis. "But those are simple tasks for me, Sire, and joyful ones. Cor has a heavy burden on his shoulders."

"He wears it well," said Lune. "Or… he shall, once certain muscles develop fully. He grows in competence daily."

Aravis sighed. "I am sure he does, sire…"

"But… you have little confidence in him?" asked King Lune, ever perceptive. Aravis didn't think how anyone could take him for a dotard.

"Oh—no, no, sire. It isn't that…"

"It is a worthy lie," said Lune, smiling, "For it comes from a heart filled with doubt and love."

"Sire?"

"Oh, child… do not think that I am not aware of the inner workings of the feminine heart. You remind me so thoroughly of my dear, dead wife… it is uncanny how much…" He paused a moment, and Aravis stood, turning away from him and wiping her eyes momentarily. "Cor cares for you, my dear. You worry that his brash manner of late… his easy anger… his curt demeanor toward you imply his unwillingness to don the mantle of responsibility that very well may soon be his."

"Not _very_ soon, I hope," said Aravis, returning to the king and kneeling by his feet.

"They are not, as you believe, signs of irresponsibility."

"I… don't think that, sire. I believe him quite capable. But, sometimes he acts so irritating…"

"Fighting in the tilt yard the other day was not a sign of flouting your request to ready himself for our guests, you know," said King Lune. "It is chivalry and respect for _you_ that drives his play."

Aravis looked up at him questioningly. "What do you mean, sire?"

"Oh, you are yet blind child…" Lune sighed. "He fights his brother to let out his energy. He is cold toward you to counter-balance the blood that is at a boiling point in his veins. He loves you very deeply."

Aravis snorted in unbelieving laughter. "That, sire, is proof that you've had more than your good of the wine…" she stood, took Lune's goblet and her own, and placed it over by the decanter.

She heard the king move, and turned toward him. He was walking slowly toward her chamber door, and stopped at the threshold. "Thank you for the wine and for the conversation, My Lady," he said, smiling at her. "Now do be kind and write to my son."

OoOoOoOoOo

Cor sat in the chamber, his eyes fixed on the sealed parchment. Corin was on a hunt with some dwarves and fauns, then was to sup with them at Beaver's Dam, and would not return until late morning the next day. He'd diplomatically offered to remain behind, but Cor's real reason had been to give his brother a chance to know those he would be governing without an elder brother looking over his shoulder constantly. It was the moment he'd said good bye to Corin that the letter came to him, by way of Fairview, the Robin.

Cor took another drink from a goblet, in order to fortify himself against whatever onslaught might be contained on the page before him. He looked at it as if it might explode. He pulled a face at the bitter wine of Narnia—how he longed for the Spirit of Archenland in that moment. Taking the parchment with him, he sat near the hearth—it had been lit for the evening, and Cor reveled in its warmth. Breaking Aravis' seal, he unrolled the parchment and gazed at the words.

_Prince Cor of Archenland,_

_It is good to know you are well by your own hand rather than words relayed by your father—yet this is not meant to scold. I feel you must worry that my words are destined to be harsh, for it has been too long between letters. The letter you sent to me two weeks ago went awry—I can fully explain it to you later, I only received it this day, and am returning your correspondence this same hour. I would not wish to be cause for upset. Know that I would not have ignored any letter for so long—especially not from you._

_You have intimated that Corin fairs well also—that is well, for concern for him in this new task has been on my mind of late. The nature of his Regency over Narnia gives me peace; for I know he has long felt anxiety at the prospect of ruling. It would seem that a temporary stewardship is the very thing for him. It is apparent that he has found more comfort in dealings with the Talking Beasts and Divine Woods and Waters of the north than in strictly human relation. That is in no way to criticize the excellent folk of Narnia, nor to speak slightly against His Highness, your brother the Prince Regent—it is simply to state a point of interest that has all the court of Anvard in curiosity. It is well-believed that a mail-tight fit has been discovered in Corin's regency (no matter how brief or long it may be), and so peace that our Neighbor Land is well cared for reigns over your father's house._

_Yet if anxiety there be, it remains with the length of time needed in both your brother's and your absence from Anvard. Your father is well, and he has no worries regarding the two of you, and has resigned himself to the possibility that Corin may be called upon to remain in Narnia as King once day. But it is not the anxiety of kings or the brave men of Archenland that concerns me… it is the restlessness of the southern gentle-lady dwelling in a large and lonely house, absent from friends. You must not be cross if I find myself a little forlorn without the childhood playmate who has grown away from me—perhaps it is simply the nature of friendships. But I did think our adventures as children might have forged a bond greater than that which we have shared of late. _

_Perhaps my concern is inconsequential—perhaps I speak of nothing. Perhaps you think my words selfish, while you are shouldering the weight of your coming kingdom. But somewhere within you—within me—there is a child who once rode for Narnia and the North, to become free from Calormene slavery, to save these lands from the tyranny of Rabadash and his two hundred horse. Somehow those children have been hidden within us both, and we have grown apart—whether or not we meant to do so. The friend of my youth is in you still, and I am in some ways the same I ever was. I pray your patience in my harsh words to you from time to time—and forgive me when I misspeak. _

_Continue well these weeks you are away—and return in due time to bring a smile to an old friend's face._

_In friendship, I remain,_

_Lady Aravis of Archenland, sometime Tarkheena of Calormen _

Cor brought the parchment slowly to his face and breathed it in, fancying he smelled a bit of her southern spice in the words. Her apology and pledge of friendship bordered on… a different fondness. Or so he perceived. Her letter was much longer than his had been—and he found he missed her presence more at the completion of the reading. He would write her once more—immediately, in fact, and he would say to her… What?

What more could he tell her? That he'd been devoted to her since the day he'd rushed a lion on her behalf? That he longed for Anvard to be with her—that not one thought even of his father's health or his future kingdom consumed him now? Nothing but the memories of her haunting beauty and indomitable strength of will and nobility of character… everything she was that he wished to strive for—oh, that he were grand enough to win her.

He could not wait much longer with his brother. He would speak with him soon, and with his father. Surely he was not needed here too much longer.

**A/N: I began this chapter on April 19… and it's been nearly a month now since I've written on it. It's amazing how easy it is to get out of the habit of writing, then when you do it again, you remember how much you loved it, and vow never to have such a gap again. I want to be more consistent with posting, especially after your fantastic comments on my work—you are appreciated. Unfortunately, life happens to us as it tends to do once in a while, and we get sidetracked from our first love. I will work on this more often, friends, be assured.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: A Final Duty

Aravis' heart thumped. Another letter. And a mere day after she'd sent hers to Cor. She opened it hastily, sparing a quick smile for the messenger bird. "Lady Aravis," she read aloud. The dogs began to bark. She looked up from her perch at the window of the stable, where the kennels were. First, to her duties, then to… other things. She pushed the letter in her pocket, then jogged to the kennel door and unlatched it. Seven dogs greeted her with yips and tongues and wagging tails, jumping around her so exuberantly that she nearly fell over. "Have you eaten all your supper already?" she asked. "How about a run then?" She whistled and led the way out the door, into the warm evening. The dogs raced around her, bounding forward and running back, panting and barking, and sneezing merrily. She brought them around the eastern side of Anvard, toward the front lawn, lined with trees. A bit farther and she was in the midst of a dark, wooded area at the bank of the Winding Arrow. Here, Archenland's river is shallow and easily forded, and the sound of the water tumbling over the rocks and twisting around branches and roots is a constant chatter, especially in the late spring when it runs high still with the Stormness Head snow melt. It was cooler beneath the enclosure of trees, though little specks of like snuck through the branches and leaves, creating warm patches on the soft grass. Aravis sat on a large rock and indulged in one of her keenest pleasures—she took off her boots and stockings to allow her feet to dangle in the water. It was pleasantly cool, but not cold, and she reveled in the feeling as the dogs ran up and down the bank, jumping right in an chasing small fish, splashing one another—and sometimes even Aravis.

Sitting there with her bare feet, she thought about Cor—who'd never liked wearing shoes, if he could help it. She supposed it came of so many years going barefoot as a boy in Calormen; Cor the man had little quirks that would always set him apart from his peers. It was humorous how different he and Corin were. He'd told her once that he reveled in the feel of the water rushing over his toes. She closed her eyes to better feel the sensation herself. It was indeed wonderful. She glanced toward the dogs—some of which were playing still, others lapping up great gulps of water, and still others had found comfortable spots to lie in the grass, panting and resting. They seemed content enough in their various occupations, so Aravis removed Cor's letter from her pocket and read it.

_Lady Aravis,_

_I admit to a prior curiosity as to why there was such a length of time between my first letter and yours. Perhaps it is in my nature to assume the worst of a situation immediately. This can have its benefits; being pleasantly surprised often is one example. It can also have its liabilities, however, with time spent in concern about the reason for such a delay. I was relieved to have worried for nothing._

_Things continue well—not that much change could be expected in a few days. Corin grows ever-more confident in his duties, and I am certain that my presence will not be required here much longer. Indeed, I have recently written to my father of my desire to return home, believing that my brother is both well and able to continue regency without assistance. As it is, I am hardly needed here at all. The only thing I have done is eaten the excellent Narnian fare and sat on my royal backside while talking to Tumnus, mainly. An excellent faun—he and I share a love for the histories of our two lands. As you know, he has chronicled both Narnian and Archenlandish history for many years. The benefit of speaking to the faun on these matters is the length of his extensive lifetime, and the faunish ability to spin a tale as no other—except, perhaps a Calormene troubadour. He was born long before Narnia's Hundred Years' winter, and the tales he tells keeps me awake late into the night. I look forward to relaying some of them to you when I return home._

_I realize this letter sounds like a report that I would send my father of the progress here—but I mean to share with you something I hope you will keep in confidence. I do not wish to cause him undue worry. There is sadness hanging over Cair Paravel, as I'm sure you would have guessed, at the loss of the Four Sovereigns. It is felt by all… but none so dearly in this land as Corin. Perhaps that is what makes him try so diligently to be a successful regent. I sense that he wonders if he is compared to King Peter and the rest. Of course that is a natural concern, but he gets on so well with the Narnians that you could hardly imagine a hitch at all. I know he was in close friendship with King Edmund, and it cannot be an easy adjustment. I believe that Corin takes his responsibility a bit too seriously at times. Not a cause for any real worry, but I wished to voice it to someone other than my father. _

_My recent years have been so devoted to study that I have not built as close a companionship with the Four as I might have. You, though… how do you fair, my Lady? The bond you shared with Queen Lucy was evident to all. Why, the time the two of you spent traveling to the other's domain alone is well-known. I experience an ache on your behalf; I know well what it is to lose the closeness you shared with a friend. In some cases companions simply drift apart, as you and I of late. But the Queen's grace was taken from you by Aslan's will and not her own. That is a pain I've not experienced, and cannot soothe with words. I do not wish to cause more ache by mentioning this, merely to offer what comfort I can._

_As to your worry that the words of your letter I might think selfish—if they are than mine are doubly so. The sun and sea of Narnia are a lovely sight for a time, but Archenland's mountains and mossy woods call to me ever more strongly each day… and perhaps more calls to me. In truth, Aravis, if you will forgive familiarity for a moment (for I presume on old acquaintance) the call I feel toward Anvard is not the mantle of my coming kingdom, nor the mountains, nor even my father as much as the desire to reunite in friendship with you. Let us put aside those differences that have caused argument between us and be of united accord. I beg your forgiveness as well—had I not been occupied do deeply in my own affairs… ah, but let us put those things behind us._

_Yours in Friendship,_

_Cor_

A cold, wet nose touched Aravis' hand, causing her to jump. Laughing, she stood and tucked the letter into her pocket once more. "Back to Anvard then?" she asked, then whistling for the rest of the dogs, they made their way back to the kennels. This letter had been longer than the last—longer than hers, even. It had pledged his friendship—which should please her—but somehow she felt sadder after reading it. Friendship was well and good, but… "Oh, come home…" she sighed.

oOoOoOoOo

"It's something that will have to be done sooner or later, brother," said Cor, eyeing Corin as he paced the length of the dais.

"It's not something I'm very keen on," said Corin. "I'm making real progress with the Narnians here. The timing isn't the best."

"The islands eastward are of Narnian domain as well, you know. Well, the Lone Islands anyway. They'll need to know that the kings and queens won't be returning."

"That sounds like something I could send someone else to do… are you keen to sail, Cor?"

"Oh no you don't," said Cor.

"But you could serve as an ambassador," said Corin.

"I'm returning to Archenland," Cor rejoined. Nothing could make him sale for two months and more now. Over the last fortnight he and Aravis had been writing daily—rekindling the friendship they once knew, and he wanted nothing more than to see her again, though… for what? For a friendship? Or was it something else? "You're on your own. You'll want to visit Galma, Terabinthia, and Seven Isles as well as the Lone Islands… It will be quite a journey." Cor wasn't going to sail to all those islands on his brother's behalf, no matter what he said. He was ready to go home—and the sooner the better. He would be ready to leave as soon as his father released him. "Now, if that's all for this evening…" said Cor.

"Very well, go to bed," said Corin sulkily. "And don't help me." He waved his brother off, and then sat on the top step of the dais. "Well," he said, thinking hard. "As acting ruler of this country—in the office of Regent, at least—I shall charge our neighboring Archenland with this request. I wonder if Lady Aravis would be willing to assist Narnia in her hour of need… Perhaps she can get him to go." Grinning, he began to write a letter to his father.

oOoOoOoOo

The very next evening Cor thundered into his brother's chamber in a rage. "What is this?" he asked, clutching a letter and looking like he would murder Corin.

"A letter, it would seem," said Corin calmly. "It is customary to knock, you know."

"It is customary not to go behind my back and have father order me as emissary to the Lone Islands," said Cor, tossing the letter at his brother.

Corin caught the parchment, and read aloud, "'It is my wish for you to return to Archenland…' that's not bad."

Cor grunted. "Read on!"

"Very well," said Corin, "Let's see… 'One last duty on your brother's behalf I ask of you. Sail to the Lone Islands with the news of his regency, then return to Archenland.' Hmm… it says he's sending provisions for the voyage in a week."

"Yes, Corin," said Cor, in an effort to maintain his patience. "A week. Then a month to the Lone Islands what with visiting the other lands on the way, and a month back. I had been returning home soon."

"Look here," said Corin with a smile. "You think it is _my_ fault he's sending you?"

"He mentions your request in his letter," said Cor, "So don't pretend to play innocent!"

"Ah, yes," said Corin, looking at the letter again. "It says, 'Your brother the regent mentioned your wish to help in anyway needed, and spoke of a visit to Narnia's other provinces.' I suppose I've been caught then." He chuckled slightly.

"How can you be so smug, Corin?" asked Cor. "You don't need me. You can ask a Narnian to sail. Tumnus mentioned an interest…"

"Oh, he's going as well," said Corin. "Didn't you know?"

Cor threw his hands up and groaned. "Fine," he said. "I'll await Father's provisions, and go, then return to Archenland. Curses on you, brother!" Storming out of Corin's chamber, he slammed the door behind him. Corin couldn't be more pleased.

oOoOoOoOo

Crumbling up the letter he'd just written to Aravis, Cor threw it in the fire and began to pace the chamber. It had sounded like complaining. He didn't want her to think him a petulant child, upset that his father wanted him to sail to the Lone Islands before returning home. Dragging his fingers through his hair, Cor pulled its length away from his neck, and finding a piece of string, he tied it back. He sat down once more at his ink and parchment, and wrote.

_My Lady Aravis,_

_It pleases my father to send me on one last…_

He looked at it in disgust and tore the page to shreds, and tossed them in the fire as well. He started again.

_My Lady,_

_I look forward to my return to Archenland. There is one last service I might offer my brother—to sail to the Lone Islands and announce his regency and the loss of the Four to the reigning governor there. It is an honor to be of help in this way. Two months will not last very long—it has already been half that time since I left Archenland with my brother, and the time moved quickly—especially in the recent weeks that we've written so often. My one regret will be an inability to write every day for that time. Two months more and I return home. May you fair well—I must begin preparations, so I will keep this letter short. _

_In friendship,_

_Cor_

He was lying, of course—he _had_ no preparations to make just now. In his father's letter, it had been intimated that provisions would be provided for—all he need do was sail and represent his brother. But he didn't want to write any more to her just now—he didn't think he could contain his ire at the situation, or the temptation to reveal more to Aravis than was appropriate just now. It even pained him to sign the letter "In friendship," for she was so much more to him.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Hopes of Twilight

Aravis looked at the two letters before her, and grinned. One was the valiant acceptance of duty coupled with thinly-veiled annoyance, written by Prince Cor. The other letter was Corin's cordial request that she, Aravis, accompany Cor on his voyage to the Lone Islands. She gathered that, considering the letters had come within less than an hour of each other, each brother did not know of the other's letter to her. No doubt Cor was upset that he need go on the voyage at all, and Corin assumed all was well. She realized what amazing trouble could be caused because the brothers lacked communication. It was almost laughable. All the next week Cor would be morose about his coming duty, wishing instead to go home, when all the while Aravis was preparing to meet him and accompany him. Why, if only he _knew_ of the plan, he would—

_What?_

Certainly it would be cause for _some_ joy. After all, he'd intimidated in the last few letters that he looked forward to seeing her—in friendship, at least. He'd mentioned his interest in rebuilding the rapport they'd once shared. Certainly she would be a welcome sight. Then again, his letter mentioned his hope to return home; it may simply be Archenland that he missed. His father, even. It needn't necessarily be Aravis. She needn't jump to conclusions.

She wondered if she ought to mention in her next letter Corin's invitation to accompany him. Part of her wanted to, if for no other reason than to get his opinion on the matter. But several things prevented her from doing so. If she were to let him know of her intentions, it might change nothing: He may still be morose. Aravis didn't think she'd like to hear that her presence would mean so little to him. Or, still worse, he might be angry with her offer, and insist she remain home. For what reason? There didn't need to be a reason. Aravis imagined all sorts of ways that he might respond to her offer, and none of them positive. She didn't think of it as over-analyzation or worry, but as taking precaution for what could _possibly_ happen. She was far too wise not to guard her heart carefully.

At least when she showed up in person in a week with the rest of the crew he couldn't very easily send her away. It was settled. She wouldn't tell him. She'd been asked by Prince Corin, anyway, not Cor. She had no obligation to let him know. If Corin chose to disclose his invitation to his brother, that was his own affair. She would simply write Corin, thank him for the invitation and graciously accept, and travel to Narnia in a week's time. If it came as a surprise to Cor that she was to accompany him, so much the better. Thus resolved, she wrote her acceptance to Corin and had the letter sent by carrier bird within the hour.

oOoOoOoOo

Corin grinned widely as he scanned her letter. "Hmm," he said, "She 'asks that I don't mention her presence to Cor, but leaves it to my discretion,' eh? Well, at my discretion, I think Cor will quite enjoy the surprise." Corin balled up Aravis' letter and tossed it on the fire. As the flames erased her acceptance of his request to accompany Cor on the voyage to the Long Islands, Corin began to pace his chamber, his eyes fixed on the flagged stone below. "What to do with him," he said. "Certainly this will do him good." How else could he orchestrate things between his brother and Aravis? Perhaps he would simply have to let the sea do what it did best, and bring them both to madness.

oOoOoOoOo

"Dear Aravis," Cor read aloud, skimming the words he'd just written. "Hmm." He wondered if he was crossing an undefined border of propriety in his address. His last letter from her had been consoling, telling him that two months would be over before he knew it, that she looked forward to his return, kind and _friendly_ encouragements like that. Nothing in her letter had given away any sense of disappointment in his delay, so perhaps he ought not to be too familiar with her. But it would be many weeks before she would have another letter from him, and he from Aravis—perhaps the familiarity was warranted. It was the night before he was to leave for Seven Isles and beyond. Perhaps it was time, what with absence making the heart grow fonder and all that, to be more familiar. He read once more with resolve, "Dear Aravis," then nodded his head in decision. Placing the page once more on his writing desk, he continued:

_I know not if I will have another chance to write or hear from you before I am once more in Archenland. I can imagine how it will be when I return; the trees will just be turning to shades of flame and gold, the hint of cooler months whispering in the evening. I can see us walking by the Winding Arrow, wrapped in cloaks and furs, taking in autumn beauty as we talk. Narnia is not much farther north than Archenland, but because of the sea's wind fall does not last long here. It simply flickers a moment than changes to cold ice and snow for months on end. In Archenland—our beloved home—the Twilight of the Year, as I call autumn, slowly progresses from summer's heat to the quiet, chill blanket of snow that winter lays upon the ground, as if tucking the world gently into bed and kissing it fondly good-night._

_Autumn holds great anticipation for me, especially this year, for I hope to return to Anvard just as the delights of the season begin. You cannot know of the hope I feel with regard to seeing you again. The letters we've shared in these last weeks have been a balm to my soul, and it is with trembling fingers and beating heart that I read each one. I feel I've come to know you much more deeply—yet I falter when I think how I will act when once again I am in your presence._

Cor took a deep breath while writing the last sentence. With a groan, he said, "Well, I suppose I can't do this half-way," and he continued to write.

_You intoxicate me, Aravis: that is the meat of it. I wondered if it was merely your beauty that has put me under some enchantment—I have heard of such things, but I realize now it is much more than that. Your character is lovelier even than your dark tresses and burning eyes. Your heart is ever serving others, and your integrity shames me. You honor me and those around you without effort, it would seem, and I am astounded by your inner beauty even as I am staggered by your poise and grace. When I say that you have intoxicated me, make no mistake in my meaning. I am as a man drunk with the wine he has longed for all his life. It is my most honorable and serious intention to court and marry you one day, if only I might have some chance to win your hand._

Cor placed the quill gently on the parchment and dragged his fingers through his hair. He read it over and over. It wasn't quite finished, but it had been exactly what he'd intended to say, and that thought struck him most profoundly. He doubted he could tell her those things in person, but on the page, he could pour himself into her with confidence. When he wrote he had no concern as to how she would respond. Taking a deep breath, he took up his quill once more and concluded:

_Dearest friend, two months and more will mark the time we have yet to be apart. With each passing moment my thoughts will be drawn toward you, and I will write you each day, though you will not read my letters until my return. I ask of you now only to consider my words—to consider me with your heart. _

_In love most sincere I remain yours,_

_Cor_

Carefully he folded and sealed the letter, then placed it in his tunic pocket. Patting the outer fabric, he smiled and allowed himself to laugh in nervousness. "After all," he said, "I needn't actually _send_ it." He would show it to her one day, perhaps, if he worked up the courage. Meanwhile, he would spend the next few minutes writing the letter than he _would_ send to her, something beginning with a formal salutation, and ending similarly—with no poetic nonsense about autumn or twilight or love. Why need a man make himself a mark for insult? Courage he had, but _that_ was suicide.

oOoOoOoOo

How a week could possibly last this long, Aravis would never know. She was prepared with the crew they were taking to Narnia, and through a series of letters back and forth to Corin, all things were settled. Tumnus would be accompanying them as concierge and assistant to Prince Cor, but the main body of the crew would be manned by dwarves, who in those days in Narnia were accomplished sailors. The _Splendor Hyaline_ would sail on the first day of summer, an eastern wind at her back and the morning before her.

The night before half of Anvard's court made for Narnia, Aravis could not find sleep, and eventually she stopped trying. She once more looked through her things to ensure she had all she needed, and reread the last letter she'd gotten from Cor:

_Lady Aravis,_

_This is the last letter I will have a chance to write you before sailing for the Lone Islands, and I find more time on my hands than I would before have thought, being the ambassador on behalf of Narnia's Regent. But the faun Tumnus has proven a helpful friend in the preparations for our voyage, and so I feel a bit useless, I'm afraid. I am glad he accompanies me on the journey, he is a good friend, and a wondrous teller of the tales of these lands. I could listen to him for hours spinning the stories of these lands from Narnia's creation to the first king of Archenland, his first encounter with a human, your dearest friend, the Queen Lucy. Tumnus will be a joy to have along._

_I trust you will find some occupation in these next months, my lady, as our continued correspondence will be made quite impossible with the voyage. Ships have gone to and from the Lone Islands many times, to be sure, but I hardly think it worth sending letters every day. As it is, I wouldn't be surprised if you told me even now that you tire of these written conversations. Business and an existence as a guest in the neighboring country isn't very interesting, I am afraid. You will no doubt have many other things to occupy yourself with, and will hardly notice my absence._

_Enjoy these months, my lady, until I see you again._

_Prince Cor of Archenland_

_It was a simple letter, nothing telling, nothing serious, but Aravis was surprised at his insistence that she must be tired of corresponding with him. More likely, he was tired of it and was glad for two months reprieve. If it were Aravis' choice, were she not going to voyage with him, she would continue to send a letter each day, to tell him every detail of her life._

Thinking about seeing him—the very next day!—Aravis' heart beat a wild rhythm, and she nearly danced around her chamber in her excitement. It was late in the night, however, and she did not want to wake the entire house of Anvard. Finally she lay in her bed, but she did not sleep at all, and rose as soon as she heard the house stirring. She was ready before anyone else, and eager to begin the seven-hour trek to Cair Paravel.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Madness Begins

The first day of summer dawned atypically gray and dark. Aravis stepped outside onto the dewy grass with the dogs—the last time she would tend to them for several months—and smelled the air, damp and cold. The clouds above were thick and swollen—it would be a matter of moments, perhaps, before it began to rain. The journey to Narnia would be unpleasant and wet. Aravis didn't mind this, nothing could dampen her spirits, not even a downpour from Stormness Head. Soon she would be in the presence of Prince Cor, aboard a ship on the Narnian port, ready to make for the lands eastward.

Something giddy stirred inside her as she made her last-minute preparations to leave with the crew King Lune was to send with her. The prospect of an adventure with Cor proved exciting, regardless of what she hoped would happen. Fond memories of their childhood bombarded her, and she looked forward to the voyage with relish.

The rain did come; it began just after they forded the shallows of the Winding Arrow. No drizzle was this, but a full, drenching shower, soaking earth, horses, and riders. Were it not for the supply-laden carts, Aravis might have wished to gallop the entire way, cutting the journey by three hours at least. But it could not be helped. There was a short rest beneath thicker woods to make some attempt at a luncheon, but soon it was given up, in favor of making for Narnia as fast as they could. The rain began to let up toward the evening, but the path was muddy, and the horses tired, and another rest was ordered.

"My Lady," said the party leader, the Lord Daren, "You are soaked through. It is madness to continue tonight—at least four more hours remain in our journey to Narnia. If it pleases your ladyship—"

"It pleases me to continue," said Aravis, somewhat shortly. "Let the men change into dry clothing, then we will ride for Narnia. We are expected by the court."

Lord Daren breathed in through gritted teeth and tried to reason with her. "I can send a gyrfalcon with a message to Cair, Lady," he said. "I entreat you to wait until morning."

Aravis looked around at the crew—ten others there were, all as exhausted as she, and wet through—cold and hungry as well. "I thought I was the only women in our party, my Lord Daren," she said irritably. "But if your crew insists on resting the night like children, I suppose it can't be helped!" She unbuckled her horse's saddle and pulled it off its back with a hearty yank. Lord Daren moved to take it from her, but she jerked away, saying, "I can do it myself!"

A quiet party camped by the road to Narnia that evening, doing what they could to warm themselves by a small fire, for there was little dry wood to be found.

oOoOoOoOo

"What does this mean?" asked Cor as he marched into the hall where his brother sat, playing chess with Tumnus. "'Against the wishes of her ladyship, but to the advantage of the crew we delay our arrival until the morrow?'"

"It looks to me like they do not arrive until morning, Highness," said Tumnus, moving his knight to check Corin's king. "Try and find a way out of that, Lord Regent."

"I shall," said Corin, scratching his chin and studying the board.

Cor sighed. "What does he mean, 'against the wishes of her ladyship'? Surely they can't mean…"

Corin took the faun's knight with his queen. "Surely you must have seen that coming, Tumnus," he said with a chuckle.

"Indeed," said the faun, smiling.

"Corin!" Cor exclaimed. "Stop playing and answer me! Is Aravis accompanying the party?"

"Wouldn't that be a treat?" asked Corin, still acting the innocent.

The faun moved his bishop to take Corin's queen, then said, "Check Mate, Lord Regent."

"What?" asked Corin incredulously. "How did you…"

"We make small sacrifices to get in the right place for the kill," said Tumnus. "Excellent game, My Prince."

"Corin!" Cor nearly shouted. "For the last time!"

"Yes," said Corin lightly, taking a sip from a goblet of wine. "Aravis is coming."

"And a happy crew she will make us," said Tumnus happily. "Why, her lady's grace is as merry as—"

"Forgive my interruption, Master Faun," said Cor, "But were you going to tell me this, brother?!"

Corin placed his goblet back on the table and lazily dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "No," he said. "It was not your concern. I invited her."

"Not my concern!" said Tumnus. "Why you—Of _course_ it is my concern! I'm going as your ambassador!"

"Good point," said Corin, as unconcerned as ever. "Hmm. Must have slipped my mind to mention. Ah, well."

"Of all the impudent, obtuse brothers—"

"Why thank you, Cor," said Corin. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Cor could think of about a hundred things he wanted to say to his brother at that moment, but the faun cut in. "Surely you are pleased with this news, Prince," said Tumnus. "After all, you and the lady Aravis have long been friends."

Cor sputtered a moment, and fumed, "That has nothing at all to do with—you should have told—and _you_ knew this whole time, Tumnus?"

"Of course, sire," said Tumnus kindly. "I asked who was to accompany us on the voyage, and your royal brother—"

"Couldn't be bothered to tell me, could he?" asked Cor. With a menacing look, he turned on his heel and left the room.

"Poor Cor," said Corin, beginning to move the chess pieces back into position. "You played your part well, I must say, Master Tumnus."

"There wasn't much to play, I'm afraid," said Tumnus, absently scratching his face with one of the golden knights. "It is clear your brother is flustered, and it is only a matter of time before we know if the Lady Aravis has similar feelings."

"You'll need to ensure they fall in love during the voyage, Tumnus," said Corin. "Father's been trying to match them for ages—something about wanting to see his grandson before he dies."

"Has he no hopes for the younger prince of Archenland to marry and have children?" asked Tumnus.

"Never," said Corin. "I'd rather box an army of giants."

oOoOoOoOo

Cor was livid. And surprised. And shocked. And irritated. He ought to be pleased—after all, Aravis and he would be on a voyage for the two months he'd thought to have no contact with her. He ought to be joyous. But he felt duped. He'd been complaining of his duty to Aravis in letters for the last week, and all the time, she'd been preparing to travel to Narnia to accompany him. No doubt she thought him a fool, and would make good sport of him when she at last arrived.

If she arrived. The storm from Archenland had carried as far north as Narnia, and the roads south and west were muddy and nearly impassible. How she could handle resting for the night and waiting until morning to continue on, Cor could not tell. The determination he knew in her meant she was not one to be crossed. But it seemed that Lord Daren had insisted on her being rational and patient. Lord Daren was a good sort—his father's most trusted advisor, and knowledgeable of both northern and southern customs, as far as Tashbaan in Calormen. He was a well-learned in diplomacy and politics, and would serve well in the duties they were to perform. And he would help to keep Aravis in check, should she need to let go of a certain excess of pride.

Why was she coming? Why must she insist on accompanying him? What did it matter that he was desperately in love with her? Did her insistence on voyaging with him mean anything other than her lack of confidence that he could do the job that had been requested of him? And her kind words in the last several letters, how meaningless they seemed now! Perhaps she was only coaxing information from him, wishing to assess whether he was able to carry out his father's request. And now that he'd been telling her of his irritation at the extra time he'd be required to leave, she thought him childish, perhaps, and incapable of doing It without her.

Well, she could think what she wished. He would carry out his duty with or without her, and make no mistake. He would prove to her that he did not need her to show him how to behave as the future kind of Archenland!

oOoOoOoOo

Aravis did not sleep well for the second night in a row. Though she lay on furs and blankets, the ground was uncomfortable and damp, and the night was cold. She longed to be at Cair Paravel, lying in a warm bed after a luxurious bath. Several times during the night she was tempted to wake the Lord Daren and insist that they continue the journey, but she thought of his attitude earlier that day, and thought better of it.

Tossing from side to side in a futile effort at finding comfort, Aravis imagined all sorts of meetings between her and Prince Cor. Would he be pleased? Why wouldn't he? What an exciting time they would have at sea together. Cor was by far the more experienced sailor, having accompanied Tumnus years ago to Seven Isles, and been trained personally by sailors. Why, his ship had even engaged privateers at one point—how wonderful it would be to hear of his adventures while they sailed eastward. She was looking forward to seeing him shine as Narnia's ambassador, as well—just the chance to prove to him how proud she was—she was extremely excited. Perhaps he would see her in another light—one of a friend, for certain, but also that of a woman truly worthy to serve at his side through life. There were many things to look forward to on this voyage, not the least of which was traveling to the Lone Islands themselves—perhaps they would have an opportunity to visit the Library of Zardeena, Lady of the Night—Calormen's island university. Why, it had been many years since she'd left her father's house, perhaps her younger brother Raashiv—who'd been four or five when she let—would be studying there now, and she could see him as a young man. The possibilities for adventure stretched before her, a vista of endless opportunity. How she hoped Cor would be excited to see her the next day. If only the sun would rise—if only she didn't have to wait any longer!

oOoOoOoOo

Lord Daren's second letter came at dawn. The party from Anvard had risen and were beginning their trek toward Narnia at a slower pace from yesterday, for the horses were spent, but they anticipated their arrival at Cair Paravel by noon. They were well, said the letter, though damp, and a few of the men had caught cold, but nothing they could not weather. The letter had been written hastily, with another comment about the Lady Aravis' impatience. Cor felt great compassion for the Lord Daren, for he knew what Aravis could be like when her ire was raised.

He was not quite as irked with the prospect of her presence as he'd been last night—in some respects, he was quite anticipating her arrival. But then he woud remind himself that she would probably be judging his performance the entire time, and it made him morose, and he would begin to pace his room.

Noon came and went, and no party from Anvard. One o'clock, two, by three thirty Cor headed toward the stables to mount and ride out to meet them. It was when he had cleared the portcullis that he saw the gyrfalcon above head once more. He signaled to it, and circling downward, it alighted on his arm.

To the Court of Narnia, from Daren of Archenland. We are encamped once more by the road, less than two hours hard riding from Cair. The entire crew is taken ill with a sudden fever. Please send assistance. Lady Aravis is worse off than the men—the fever is strong with her and she speaks in delusions. Come quickly.

Cor's heart thumped with exhilarating terror. Aravis was ill, and he'd been angry with her only a few minutes before. How could he have been so callous? Cor pulled the hunting horn from his side and winded three long blasts on it, a distress signal. He did not wait for others to follow him on the road—he knew they would come soon enough. He would not wait another moment if being by her side might be of some help. Curse the woman—this one voyage might kill the both of them.


End file.
